devil dust

The foul white devil-dust lies thick upon the ground, the air is colder than Republicans’ opinions of women. The wind howls like a pack of wounded werewolves. The trees creak like the timbers of a clipper ship at sea, threatening collapse. A thousand gold ducats to the person who brings me the head of Jack Frost on a pike! I shall devour the dark heart of Winter and banish it from this land forever.